


say yes to heaven

by fearless_seas



Series: Thirteen Years. [11]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Implied Sexual Content, Injury, Intimacy, M/M, Smoking, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: Alain puts out a hand, placing it on top of Nelson's to stop him. He meets his eyes and an inexplicable, half conscious rush tumbles between them; a moment of perfect communion.“Stay," he whispers.
Relationships: Nelson Piquet/Alain Prost
Series: Thirteen Years. [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1051418
Comments: 14
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter I

**\----- 1992 -----**

**February 13th**

**_________________________________**

“ _I’m going to Monaco for a few days_ ,” Nelson says into the phone. It’s the thirteenth time the both of them have called since Christmas alone. Maybe more.

“Is that right?”, Alain has the phone cradled underneath his ear as he cooks for himself and Nico who is watching TV in the living room. 

“ _Sylvia is giving me Nelsinho for two weeks while he is on school vacation and I have business to do over there._ ”

Alain takes the phone away from his ear and calls for Nico to set the table. “What kind of business?”, the phone cord doesn’t stretch all the way to the sink so he motions for his son to give him the paper towels. 

“ _I am selling my apartment, I found a way better one._ ”

“I understand,” Alain sets the food on a plate in front of Nico who makes a questionable expression. Alain playfully makes a face and Nico picks up a utensil to eat. “I took my son with me to my place in Monaco, I needed to get away from Switzerland for a while…”, he moves farther from the doorway so that his son cannot hear him as well. 

“ _Trouble with the wife?_ ”

“Tell me about it.”

“S _ame here._ _Viviane blew her top, pulled that whole ‘you retired and you're still never at home’ bullshit,_ ” Nelson chuckles. 

Alain rubs the bridge of his nose, “Don’t worry--I’ve heard that one too.”

“ _Yeah…_ ”

It is silent for a moment, but he can still hear his breathing softly on the other line. “Are you still there?”, he called. 

“ _Always here, Alain._ ”

“When are you getting to Monaco?”, he twirls the telephone line around his index finger. 

“ _I think my plane gets in Friday_ ,” and then Nelson paused, “ _We should see each other._ ”

“That might be a good idea,” Alain smiles and he can hear Nelson’s voice elate through the connection.

A minute later he places the phone back on the hook and slides into his seat at the dinner table across from his son. 

“ _Êtes-tu honnêtement presque fini?_ ”, he gestures towards Nico's almost empty plate. 

Nico shrugs and continues eating, " _Si tu n'étaies pas occupé à faire l'amour au téléphone, tu pourries aussi avoir fini_.” He chides but tries to purse his lips together to hide his smile.

Alain shakes his head, “ _Où apprenes-tu ces choses? Ecole?_ ” Nico frowns and when he does that he looks just like his father, Alain realizes. His hair doesn’t have the curl his father's does and his skin is just a little paler, almost like a china doll. Small red lips and dark brown hair. Definitely Alain’s child. He has a washed down, relaxed quality to him. Not desperate to impress, living in his own tranquil world it seems. 

“ _Je suis dice, Papa. Je ne suis pas un bebe._ ”

They grow up too fast. 

____________________________

**February 18th**

Friday night at ten in the evening, Alain gets a call without ID. He gives it a confused glance before picking it up. 

“Hello?”

“ _Guess who is Monte Carlo?_ ”

“Wonderful, Nelson,” he shakes his head with a sigh, “What exactly do you want?”

“Your address.”

Nelson arrives at his apartment building near to eleven at night. He looks absolutely trashed--red circles, purple bags and all. You’d think that traveling so many times would have given him a thick skin but he appears as though he hasn’t slept in a few days. Nelson only has one tiny suitcase with him, planning obviously to simply recycle clothing throughout the two weeks. When he stumbles in through the door, he flops down on the nearest piece of furniture (which gratefully happens to be the couch). Alain doesn’t bother to tell him to take off his shoes.

“Been a while, hasn’t it, Alain?”, Nelson manages a grin but his eyelids are already shutting as he struggles to keep his head up. He looks just the same as Alain can remember: the messy, waved hair and the brown of his eyes that conceal a richer vibrancy of green. He always squint just a little too much. 

“Do you want some coffee?” Alain strolls around the back of the couch towards the kitchen doorway. It is pitch dark outside, all the lights are on in the apartment. Nico stumbles into the kitchen with a a puzzled expression on his face just as Alain is making up a pot. “Oh, that’s Nelson, you know him,” he gestures over his shoulder towards the living room. 

“Nelson Piquet?”, Nico crosses his arms and leans against the counter with a smirk. 

“ _Quelle est cette expression stupide?_ ”, Alain muses out of the corner of his eye. 

“Why are you making coffee?”, Nico grunts, leaning over as his father meddles with the machine. 

“The man on my couch,” Alain rolls his eyes. 

“But he’s already asleep.” Alain groans before placing everything back into the cabinets where it was before.

Nico was right: Nelson’s head is lying on his arm and he is on his side with his feet curled in front of his stomach in the fetal position. His chin is hidden in the brim of his leather jacket and he is breathing peacefully as though he were a child. Alain doesn’t want to trust him in this condition by himself.

“ _Alles-tu le réveiller?_ ”, Nico knocks Nelson with his hand playfully and turns his head around to observe him. “I can’t believe this is Nelson Piquet, three world championships and he is sleeping on our couch like baby Sacha,” it puts a strange smile on his face as though he were attempting to understand it himself. 

“ _Non_ , we will kick him out tomorrow,” he elbows Nico with a smile.

His son goes back to his room and Alain shuts out the lights. He grabs an extra blanket from beneath his bed and takes off Nelson’s shoes, his pants and his jacket with care. Nelson only awakens up for a second muttering incoherently from whatever dream he was in before closing his eyes once again. Alain wraps him up in the blanket, edging him closer to the backboard so that he doesn’t roll off of the couch before leaving. And Alain only steal one last glance at him before going to sleep.

____________________________

**February 19th**

Nelson rises at eleven in the afternoon and the first thing he says when he sits up is: “Where the fuck are my pants?” It's Nico who ultimately tosses them in from the folded pile in the hallway. “Thanks,” Nelson winks and Nico grins as he steals the seat on the other end of the couch. 

Alain peers up from his book, “Nico, Nelson--Nelson, Nico.”

“Cute kid,” Nelson reaches over and ruffles up his hair playfully. Nico only scrunches up his nose but doesn’t make any effort to move.

“I’m ten--not a kid,” he makes a note of snapping back. 

Nelson shrugs, his hair is poofed out on all sides and the sunlight coming in through the uncovered window is making him wince at the brightness. “Kid… adult… same thing to me,” he sits up and slips his pants back onto his legs. “You should’ve woken me up, you know?”, he scrambles around for his jacket, “I didn’t have to sleep on your couch like a beggar.”

“ _Papa_ thinks that if he let you out sleep deprived like that last night you would’ve died.”

“Nico!”, Alain shoots him a glance. 

Nelson smirks, “Probably.” He stands there with his arms crossed and an odd twinkle in his eye that Alain has not seen for quite a while. 

Alain stands up, “Do you want food? Breakfast or something.”

Nelson shakes his head, putting up a hand in defense, “I am not going to take up more of your time.” He peers down at the watch on his wrist and makes a face, “I should’ve checked into my hotel room fourteen hours ago.” 

As Nelson strides towards the door, Alain crosses the room to grab it for him. “You’re welcome anytime,” he pulls it open. 

Nico winks, “Very welcome.”

Nelson chuckles and Alain shoots Nico another stern glance, not menacing enough though because his son can’t wipe the smile off of his face. Nelson turns to Alain, his fingers touch the edge of the door and brush his hand. “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow night?” He passes Nico a look, “Bring him. Nelsinho’s mother is flying him here tonight,” it is soft, the simple touch in the doorway. His eyes are filled with simple things as if he has aged a century in only a few months. 

Alain hesitates. He wants to say, _I don’t think that will be a good idea_. He thinks of the last time he saw him and his glance falls to Nelson's lips where the nick of blood once was. Before he can reply anything, Nico interrupts, coming in between the two of them, “We would love to, _bon Papa?_ ”

Alain makes out a smile, “Okay.”

Nelson’s expression looked grateful, the edges of his eyes soft as he had not seen in ages from him. And maybe just a small part of Alain wished to touch him a little more--a finger to his lips or a hand in his palm. But he only meets his eyes in confirmation. Nothing more. 

______________________________

**February 20th**

Nelson Piquet Jr is short for his age. He has ashen chocolate hair without the curl of his father's, it covers his forehead and his ears. He is the type of boy to cling to his mother’s arm when being introduced to strangers. When he simpers, he glances down at his shoes as if he is embarrassed. He doesn’t speak often because when he does, one has to lean in closer to hanker his words. Polite, quiet, a sweet child--but it’s not all these things that Alain notices first. It’s the calculated movements of his face, and most of all, it’s his eyes. Wide, naive, deep and soft like none other. Alain figures that he got his father’s eyes only without the color, the very identical glimmer of emotion that experience has caused Nelson to hide. It is different, the child has yet to experience the world--he hides nothing because he does not yet understand the need for it. He’s never been hurt before. 

“Nelsinho,” Nelson pushes him forward a little but places both his hand on his shoulders protectively. “This is Alain Prost, you’ve seen him on TV before, he’s my friend.”

 _I doubt a friend has seen your cock on numerous occasion--but alright_. Alain smiles and the noise in the restaurant is a dull whisper in the background. “Hello,” he doesn’t have to bend too far, but he puts out a hand and Nelsinho has a strong grip for his age. “This is Nico, my son,” and Nico manages a kind glance before sitting back down. 

Nelson sits next to him at the round table, Nelsinho on his father’s other side beside Nico. It starts with pleasantries for the kids: how is school… how are your grades… Nico have you tried your hand in Kart before? Nelsinho how was your trip to Brazil over Christmas? Soon enough, Alain has even seen Nelsinho smile a few times--small, but there anyways. It is just shyness, he understands. Alain watched as Nelsinho pushes his chair closer to his father and their arms are touching. He is quiet, his movements slow and pensive. Nico sticks to the rules, but he is a little more of a word recluse. 

“He’s a sweet kid,” Alain muses as he slips his wine closer to him. 

“Yeah,” and Nelson’s eyes move beside him. His lips curl into something, perhaps a smirk of admiration.

“How often do you see him?”, Alain asks. 

Nelson’s beam dwindles slightly and then firms into more of a grimace. “As much as I can. I’m trying to get his mother to move him to Brazil. It’s a better place for a kid to be wild.”

With all of his cynicism, this wasn’t expected for him. After dinner, while Nelsinho is hopped up on sugar, they let them run a little ahead of them on the street as they walk back to the apartment complex. The dim somewhat drowsy street lamps ignite the road as they tread. Nelson’s hand are in his pockets as he strides and he doesn’t appear as tired as he used to. 

“Retirement must be treating you well,” Alain clears his throat. 

Nelson moves his head towards him, “Why do you think that?” 

He shrugs, “You seem relaxed.” He carries a different air around him, one that is far less heavy almost as if he has come to peace with something. 

A sigh, “Maybe I am.” But he brushes against his shoulder as he walks and his fingers touching his feels less urgent like he is giving him some time. Nelson's knuckle suddenly stretches, hooking around his, it's all illuminated by held breath and suspension as if waiting for Alain to move himself away. But Alain leaves it there, rolling over his hand and allows his fingers to lock through his. He can feel it: Nelson’s breath hitches in surprise in the drift of their palms. _Don’t worry_. 

“I never expected you to be so...”, Alain pulls off and allows it linger. 

“So what?”, Nelson raises a brow. 

“Good with kids.”

Nelson chuckles, “There is a lot you won’t expect about me.” There is a lot that he doesn’t know about him either. But he takes it seriously, “It’s like a little person, you know? A part of us, I’m not good with kids--it’s just what you are supposed to do. You’re supposed to be good to them. You want to give them what you yourself never had. Being there for them… so they don’t grow to be screwed up.”

Alain elbows him in the side, “Like you?”

Nelson makes a face, “I am far too gone to be saved.” He has a musing aspect to him and he raises his hand to slap his fingers against the tree leaves as they pass. And maybe that's why he's good with kids: he's still carries a little childhood inside him. 

“I didn’t know you were secretly so soft.”

“What’s the shame in that?”, he smiles in a way that Alain feels compelled to return it.

When Nelsinho gets tired halfway through the walk and Nelson carries him on his back. “What about me?”, Nico frowns as he steps in between them and their linked hands fall apart. 

“I thought you said you weren’t a kid anymore?”, Nelson pokes him and he squirms at the touch. 

“ _Papa_! Nelson is making fun of me.”

“That’s just Nelson being Nelson.” But the other man puts Nelsinho down and Alain grabs the child's hand, softly squeezing it. 

Nelson huffs when Nico jumps onto his back. “Damn, how much muscle do you have on you?”, he laughs and Nico growls.

It’s just before departing where they are standing outside of the hotel and it is a clear moonlit night on the harbor. It cuts through the darkness with silver shanks. It makes Nelson seems older, wiser in ways that the sunlight does not. “Do you think I could see you again before I go?”, and there are those fingers again, tugging on his sleeve like a silent plea to him. 

“That would be nice,” he nods, and Nelson rubs the pads of his fingers over the top of his hand before turning away from him. Nelsinho passes Alain a glance as he is lead away, a little wave of his hand before the doors shut. 

“What do you think?”, Alain inquires when they are back in the apartment. 

“What about?”, Nico says. 

Alain scowls, “You know what about.”

Nico shrugged and sat down next to him, folding his elbow over the arm of the couch. “I like them,” he admits, “Nelson clearly cares about you a lot.”

Alain turns his head away and his face warms. It’s one of those things that he will have to wait until his son is just a little older, for when understands these things better than now. “Yeah,” and he watches the tide roll in from his window, “I suppose he does.”

___________________________

**February 24th**

He catches him for lunch one day and then invites him to dinner at his house another. He tells Nico to bring Nelsinho to his room and Nelson helps him cook. Actually, Nelson takes over the cooking with a cry of, “You’re making it all wrong!” If he was to be honest, Alain has never been a very good cook--he can really only make pasta. It is surprising because Nelson is the quite the opposite. It reminds Alain of a previous night ago:

_There is a lot you won’t expect about me._

“When does Nelsinho go back?”, Alain is sitting on the counter upright, handing him vegetables to chop up on the cutting board. 

“Five more days,” he nibbles on his inner cheek, “I wish sometimes he were a little closer with me.”

“You mean that he lived closer?”, Alain hands him a towel to clean off the knife.

“No,” he continues, “Not that. He’s only ever lived with his mother, I feel like he’s less comfortable around me or something. He’s a shy kid, really soft.”

Nelson didn’t fear the vulnerability in his voice. “I’m sure he loves you,” Alain rounds the counter, standing shoulder to shoulder with Nelson who stiffens slightly. “He is just shy.”

Nelson shrugs, the corner of his eye studies him curiously. “I get what you mean,” he notes slowly.

It’s a bottle of wine after dinner until midnight when Nico and Nelsinho have fallen asleep in front of the television.

“We should be going,” he murmurs, getting up and grabbing onto the edge of his seat. 

“They’re already asleep,” Alain puts out a hand, placing it on top of his to stop him. He meets his eyes, it’s inexplicable and only a half conscious rush of emotion; a moment of perfect communion. “Stay, he whispers. Nelson swallows and hesitates before scooting his chair closer to him. 

It’s quiet for a moment, the lights are dimmed and breathes are soft over lips. In only still action, Nelson’s palm slides underneath Alain's jaw, drawing his face towards him until his fingers thread at the hair on the back of his neck. His lips move towards his, kissing him there, keeping his mouth shut until Alain shifts forward to grab onto the chest of his shirt, tugging him swiftly and their noses brush. _We are nothing, everything, just stardust making our way back towards the stars_. But it feels somehow like a miracle, like everything falling gently into place around them.

Nelson’s expression softens, there's a gentle moan on his tongue and he reaches forward, fiddling with the buttons on his front, picks them open one by one. Alain slides his hand under his shirt, runs his fingers over his skin.

Alain pulls away for a moment so suddenly he keeps his eyes closed, “What about--”

“As you said,” Nelson interrupts, grabbing his waist and placing him into his lap, “They’re asleep.”

He draws his mouth to his neck and Alain leans into his touch. After a few minutes, he grabs Nelson’s wrist and leads him towards his bedroom at the end of the hall. When the door shuts, Nelson grabs his legs, hoisting him against the wall and clicking the lock into place. As Alain straddles Nelson on the bed, hooking himself over his waist, all he says is:

“More,” he murmurs into his ear.

So, Nelson reaches the shirt off of his shoulder. He picks at the hem of Alain’s pants, tugging them off of him. More alive, more aware, and his touch is as though he wants to cherish every inch of him. Nelsons touches him that night, in his own bed with the Monaco moonlight pooling over the sheets and his care in every caress. It is a perplexing blend of familiar and miraculous--things that he does not understand himself. Every thrust calculated and for him.

When he finishes, Nelson rolls away, his legs slipping over the side of the bed. Alain sits up, moving the sheets around his bare waist. The air smells just as it used to, sweaty in a sweet way. His back is to him and the light shines upon the dusted sun marks that trail over his shoulder and back. “Where are you going?”, Alain asks. 

Nelson pauses, keeping his back to him and facing the balcony door before him. He turns his head over his shoulder, “To the couch.”

“No,” Alain blurts out. Nelson looks confused and sits back down on the bed. “I mean,” he stammers, “You don’t have to. You can stay here if you want.”

Without a word, Nelson slides back into bed, keeping his hands to himself. Eventually, he whispers something so quiet and unheard, but there nonetheless: “Happy Birthday, Alain.”

___________________________

**February 25th**

By early morning, Alain's arm is draped around his waist, having tugged him nearer. Alain hopes that Nelson comes to peace with whatever has stuck with him for as long as he has known him. It is what is left unsettled in his heart, what makes him smile just a little less each day. He disentangles himself silently throwing on some clothes. Nico and Nelsinho are already awake, the oldest on the couch with the younger on the floor on his stomach in front of the television. Each have a bowl of cereal made. 

“ _Quelle heure êtes-tu resté debout?_ ”, Nico asks, taking a bite and Nelsinho glances over him as he enters rubbing his eyes sleepily. 

“Close to the time that you woke up, most likely,” Alain yawns and sits on the armchair. “ _Quelle heure était-il?_ ”

“ _Six heures et demie,_ ” Nelsinho mumbles, sitting up and crossing his legs underneath him. 

He didn’t know he knew French. “ _Quelle heure est-il?_ ”

“ _Dice heures et demie_ ,” Nico replies.

Alain shrugs, “ _Pas mal_.”

“Where is _Pai_?”, Nelsinho questions, slinking up and resting against the base of the couch. Nico has turned his attention back to the screen. 

“Sleeping,” he shrugs. He wonders if he remembered to close the bedroom door behind him. 

“In your bed?”, Nico raises a brow.

Alain searches his brain for a child-appropriate answer, “It is not like we drivers haven’t done it before. I've told you about South Africa, 1982 during the driver's strike.” He points to the bowls to change the subject, “Don’t you want something else to eat?”

“We have,” Nico scoffs, “All the fruit is gone now. Same with _les restes_.”

“You could’ve woken me up,” he rises and heads into the kitchen to make some coffee. Nelson stumbles in half an hour later, rubbing his temples and Nico chides him for the way that his hair looks. 

“Haven’t you ever heard of a comb?”, he frowns. 

Nelson slugs him in the shoulder, “Hey, it takes a lot to be confident in your ugliness!” This gets a laugh out of Nico, one that Nelsinho mirrors.

Alain muses the scene from the kitchen table. He has a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. And maybe this is it: this is life. Life is late mornings with messy hair, coffee and getting teased by grade school children. He thinks he could live with this, this sort of life. And the idea flirts madly with him. But ultimately, he shakes his head and moves forward. At the back of his mind, he thinks what could be. 

What everything could be…

If only he had the courage to choose. 


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crash.

___________________________

**March 3rd**

Alain visits Nelson several times before he leaves Monaco. He seems quite lonelier after Nelsinho is back with his mother and his sarcasm bleeds through more often into his words. By the fourth, Nelson is gone and Alain returns himself home to Switzerland with Nico by his side. He’d like to see Nelsinho again one day, he figures, if he can. If the child does move to Brazil with Nelson. It’d be good for him. But Alain is not his father, so what is he to say anything?

___________________________

**April 15th**

“Are you going to do it?”

“ _It’s good money._ ”

“No,” Alain rubs his temples, “Stop thinking about money. Do you really want to race again?”

A pause. “ _Not really_ ,” and it falls silent. “ _But I’d like to try Indy_.”

“So are you or are you not going to compete in Indy next month?”

Nelson must be thinking hard because usually his responses are immediate. “ _I think I am going to do it._ ” 

Alain can imagine him then: his mildly disgusted facial expression and his arched brows narrowed together. “Okay,” Alain breathes out, “Stay safe. I’ll most likely watch you.”

“ _How cute of you, Alain_ ,” he snorts, adding a chuckle then afterwards. 

“Shut up.”

_"Okay, minha Princesa."_

___________________________

 **May 8th** ****

When Alain gets the call, it is five in the morning and it makes him crawl from bed to the phone in the kitchen. He rubs his weary, blurry eyes and takes the phone onto the back deck so that he doesn’t wake his family up with his talking. 

“Hello?”, he is so tired his eyelids are falling as he drops into one of the chairs on the deck. At first, there isn’t an answer, “Hello?” he sounds annoyed and slides his neck against the chilled spring air. He's always been a deep sleeper. In the silence is when he notices the quiet breathing: there are quick but steady exhales trickling over the receiver. It causes him to knit his brow and sit up, “Nelson?”

A moment of reticence. “ _Hey, Alain_ ,” and his voice is trembling. 

“Are you okay?”, Alain swallows, his fingers begin to toy with the flecks of wood under his palms, “What’s wrong?”

“ _It’s going to be okay,_ ” but he doesn’t sound sure of himself. And he appears... frightened almost as if he was trying to calm himself down. 

Heart rate picking up a pace, Alain tightens his jaw. “Is everything alright… Nelson, why do you sound so strange?”

“ _I don’t know_.”

“What do you mean you don't know?”, he questions in alarm, digging his nails into his leg to tone himself. He changes the phone to the other side, “ _Where are you?_ ”

The pitch silence is more fearful than noise. The background of the other line is filled with nothing except for breathing. “ _I’m in the hospital_ ,” he whispers slowly. 

“The hospital?”, Alain chews his nails, “Why are you in the hospital, what happened to you?”

“ _An accident_ ,” he sounds a bit confused, “ _During practice. They only let me use the phone just now._ ”

“ _Does Viviane know?_ ”, he bites his lip. In this mind, he knew if something happened to him, his wife would be the best to tell their children. 

“ _Yeah, she wants to come but I don’t want her or the kids to see me like this._ ”

“What did the doctors tell you, what is wrong with you?”, Alain rushes out desperately

“ _I don’t remember anything, I got out of surgery hours ago... everything just hurts_ ,” his voice is tight, wound into a little ball and his words forced. His tongue is dry and he isn’t letting anything on. “ _It hurts a lot,"_ he said.

“I’ll come to you, okay?”, and Alain doesn’t realize what he said until it is out. 

“ _You don’t have to_ ,” Nelson is small, so very small and insignificant in his inflection. 

Alain cuts him off, “I’ll be there when I can.” 

This time Nelson doesn’t protest, he only pauses and then replies, “ _I trust you, Alain._ ”

___________________________

**May 11th**

A concussion, a broken left foot and ankle, a broken and dislocated right ankle, and a lacerated right knee. Yet, despite all this, Nelson was still alive even after going into the wall at the end of turn four head-on. It was the evening two days later when Alain arrives to visit Nelson. He pushes the door of his room open, closes it and Nelson is laying on a hospital bed. After a moment, Alain's attention trickles to the mesh of pins and needles sticking out of his legs. If he weren't a racer, he would've gagged. But nothing is spoken and Alain’s hand meets Nelson's wrist, rubbing the pad of his finger into the bed where the veins meet. He writes with his nail on the paled skin, and Nelson still has a shaky quality to him. The green of the blanket makes his skin almost appear sickly; the purple of bags hanging beneath his eyes make his cheeks appear hollow. 

“Take off your shoes,” Nelson demands quietly and his voice is high, wound up very sharply. Alain complies, removing his shoes and his coat, draping it at the back of a chair. A million little tubes are leading out of him almost as though he were tangled in them. Nelson had spent a lifetime, it seems, building up walls (and the backdoor is now open for him only). Alain scoots over just a little, making room for him with a wince and the drip of painkillers is on his left side. In a final movement, Nelson pats the bed beside him, “Climb up.” 

Alain ambles slowly, sliding into the other side. They sit shoulder to shoulder in silence, Nelson keeping his eyes away from his legs and instead facing towards the window. But their hips are together and it takes only a minute before Alain moves his arm behind his neck, draping it across the back of his shoulders. Nelson stiffens, pushing against him as Alain gradually draws his head towards the crook of his neck. He allows his head to rest there, on his chest, nestled into the fabric of his shirt. Alain pushes his fingers through his hair, threading through the strands with ease.

 _Everything works out in the end_. Nelson shuts his eyes, a long but shaky breath almost like a hiccup leaving his lungs. _If everything is not okay, then it is not the end_. 

“I have to go soon, visiting hours end,” Alain mutters into his hair. 

Nelson clenches his fingers into the stomach of his shirt. “Don’t think about that,” he whispers, “Just think about what is here right now, not later.”

So he just holds him like this: unraveling his thoughts, breathing deeply until sweet air extinguished the burn of fear in his lungs. Everything afterwards refuses to be anything less than extraordinary. It’s an exquisite form of self destruction, do you not think? 

___________________________

**May 13th**

Nelson is far less shaken a few days later. He snaps at the nurse who takes blood and Alain has to apologize for him. 

“God, I can’t stand being in here any longer,” Nelson frowns and it appears that he is back to usual self (Alain wonders what that actually is). 

Alain peers up from his book, “There is nothing you can do about it. No use complaining.”

Nelson only scowls and pushes his wheelchair a little closer, away from the window. “Take me somewhere, I can’t just sit around watching Spanish _novelas_ until I can be flown home,” he reaches for the tv remote on the bed beside him and turns down the volume. 

Alain only ignores him and flips the page. “I though you liked your soap operas, wasn’t Paulina pregnant with Francisco’s baby but is due to marry Miguel the possible murderer?”

“No, you have it all wrong,” Nelson waves his hands. “Francisco got Paulina pregnant but Miguel--”, he stops himself before he goes any farther, “Why the fuck am I explaining this to you?” He wheels closer until one of the bars on his legs bumps against Alain’s ankle where he sits. “Take me somewhere,” and then he softens, “Please?”

Alain sighs and rises out of his seat. 

___________________________

  
  


The end up in the dark, dank landing of the third floor stairwell next to ICU where it smells like mold. 

“This is not what I had in mind,” Nelson groans and scopes the surroundings. 

“Deal with it,” Alain crosses his arms. A part of him was amused.

“Do you see anyone?”, Nelson rushes and his eyes peel around them. 

“Why are you asking?” That’s when Nelson reaches underneath his hospital gown, lifting it up. Immediately, Alain widens his eyes, “What are you crazy?” He tries to slap his hands away and pull them out from beneath the material, “Not here!” To his surprise, Nelson manages a smirk and tugs out two cigarettes tied loosely together with a makeshift paperclip. Alain rubs his hands together nervously, “ _Mon dieu_.” He shakes his head, “I thought--”, he swallows embarrassed. 

Nelson cocks his head with a smile, “Thought what?” But Alain stays silent, his cheeks flushing. “Oh!”, Nelson hollers with a mock surprised on his face, “You thought I was going to whip out my dick and make you get on your knees right here?.” He winks, “Dirty boy, we’ll wait for later for that.”

Alain purses his lips, “Asshole.” Then he takes a moment to watch Nelson disentangle the cigarettes, “Where did you get those?”

“Not important,” Nelson slips one of them between his lips, “But if you have to know, Thomas in room four. You know, the guy who had back surgery? His girlfriend brought them.”

“I thought you weren’t a smoker.”

“I’m not,” he nods his head, “But you know, my legs, they just hurt so, so badly.” His lip pouts out and he gestures to him, “Do you have a light?”

Alain luckily had brought his coat with him and he swears as he digs about in the pockets. He pulls it out, leans over and lights the cigarette between his lips. A second flash, one that lights his features and then Nelson is coughing as he removes it from his lips to puff out a cloud of smoke. “I take it you don’t do this often,” Alain smirks with pleasure before snatching the second one in his hands and lighting it for himself. 

Nelson winks, bending his elbow, “You naughty boy, you. Alain Prost, the bad influence.” Alain sticks out his tongue and hops up on the railing, arching his legs. The silence is warm, fuzzy and comfortable. After a moment, Nelson turns his gaze to him, scoping up his body, “You remind me of cigarettes.” He moves the light around in between his two fingers, flirting, toying with it like a cat. 

“How so?”, Nelson’s expression has turned almost melancholy, pensive. 

“Because in the end, you’re going to kill me.”

Life can be this too: sneaking around in a hospital and smoking in the stairwell with thoughts like poems swimming in the air. Alain chuckles, turns his attention away and maybe he does notice Nelson flinch then but he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. It would be the greater regret of his, in years to come, that he didn’t listen. Because thoughts are so weak on idle, emotional tongues. Later he’ll look back on this moment, but for now he only blows smoke in the opposite direction as the cigarette burns down, down, down to the end until there is nothing left but ash…

“You should come to Brazil sometime this year,” Nelson smiles gently as though he knows he is trying something in vain. There is a vague notion of hope keeping him moving. 

Alain figures that he would like this idea: something new. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “Perhaps,” he muses and Nelson appears satisfied.

_And how would I kill you? Tell me. Or are you too afraid?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! I have updated my publication schedule. Once a month now. As you all know, I love comment and you should support your creators by commenting :) Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. My Tumblr is @Pierregasly is you need anything.


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe there can be peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a few months late! Enjoy <3 I made a playlist for Proquet on Spotify and I will attach the link below if anyone is interested :)

___________________________

**July 26th**

The only Brazil that Alain has ever known was the race tracks and the apartment he shared with Ayrton for two weeks in Sao Paulo. When Nelson picks him up on the curb of the airport it is nearly sunset much to Alain’s delight (it means he can get straight on his sleeping schedule when he gets to the house). Geraldo, Nelson's oldest, is driving and gets out to help him put his bag into the trunk. 

“The doctor says I can’t drive yet,” Nelson scowls as Alain climbs into the backseat of the car.

“The flight was terrible,” is the first thing Alain says and his head rolls back in exhaustion. “Absolute shit.” He doesn’t swear often but he is too irritated to care. 

“Not nice,” a tiny voice manages up and Alain peels his eyes to his right, glancing beside him.

“Laszlo _isso é_ Alain, Alain this is Laszlo,” Nelson vaguely gestures towards the back. The child gives a contented grin; he has blonde hair and somewhat of a devilish glimmer in his eye. It's certainly familiar. “Geraldo refused to let me drive,” Nelson rolls his eyes, “and Viviane took Julia to her mother’s house for the week.”

“It’s fine,” Alain smiles smally. 

“ _Portugues por favor_!”, Laszlo frowns, crossing his arms. 

“ _Não se preocupe, estamos apenas falando coisas ruins sobre você_ ,” Nelson chuckles as Geraldo leans over to change lanes. 

Alain knits his brows in amusement, “English please?”

“He said,” and Geraldo sticks his tongue out at Laszlo who is making faces at him in the rear-view mirror, “We are only talking bad things about him.”

“What a thing to tell a five year old.”

Nelson shrugs, “He knows I’m joking.” He reaches behind him and grabs his son’s ankle to his delight.

“Aren’t you only fifteen?”, Alain questions Geraldo as he rests his forehead against the window. 

Geraldo stares at him in the mirror and raises a finger to his lips with a quiet wink, “Don’t tell anyone that.”

Alain falls asleep before dinner in the guest bedroom flat down on the bed in a t-shirt and shorts. “Don’t you want to eat anything?”, Nelson sits on the edge of the mattress and Alain frowns in a half-sleepy state. 

“Let me sleep, please,” he can feel himself drifting. The covers are brought up to his neck and the pillow readjusted beneath him. “Thank you,” he mutters. 

“Goodnight, Alain.”

But he is already asleep, warm and cozy in a bed that’s not his own. 

____________________________

**July 28th**

Alain has gotten fully over jetlag two days later. 

“How do you get over it so fast?”, Nelson grumbles as he leads him into the supermarket. It's no secret he hates traveling. 

Alain’s eyes are still sensitive and the fluorescent lighting of the shop makes him squint his eyes. That is a lie, he is not fully over it. He still wakes up at four in the morning because his mind is on a separate schedule. Perhaps it is the heat as well, his sheets are always kicked out from beneath him because he can’t stop sweating. He shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Is there anything in particular that you want?”, Nelson questions as he goes from aisle to aisle picking things off of the shelves. “Go grab whatever you want, I’ll meet you at the front,” he pushes on his shoulder and without protest Alain separates from him. He grabs a few things for himself, especially chia seeds which Nelson finds to be rather disgusting. Because Alain only has euros, Nelson pays for the lot of it. In the atmosphere, he senses a odd glimmer of relaxation. The Brazilian heat has a humid quality to it and he hates dry weather. They put the groceries in the trunk of the car and then drive back to the empty house as Laszlo and Geraldo are gone for a few days with their mothers. 

It’s in the kitchen when he first notices it: the quiet lip biting Nelson continues to punish himself through. “You know what I noticed?”, Alain wonders and Nelson points to the cabinet where the cereal goes.

“Hm?”, Nelson hums, opening up the fridge. 

“You are a lot happier with your kids around,” he tosses the bags into the garbage and then settles at the kitchen table. 

Nelson shrugs, “Aren’t you?” He steals the other seat opposite him, “It’s nice to be relied on, you know? Knowing that you’re always gonna have people who need you. People who care about you when all else fails.”

“I suppose so,” Alain places a hand underneath his jaw and his eyes wander across the patio. 

“The house feels a lot emptier,” Nelson taps his fingers on the table. “So much emptier," he stretches out his voice, “My poor empty soul might need more company,” he smiles cheekily. He stands up and slides in right beside Alain, “So, so lonely.” His breath falls over his ear and Alain's arms break into goosebumps despite the heat. “I might need some attention, don’t you think?”, he stretches an arm over the back of his chair, pulling him by his hips into his lap. He runs his hands up along his muscles.“You’re like a twig, you need to eat more!”, he shrieks. 

Alain leans into the touch and squirms when his ribs are prodded. “You’re going to fatten me up aren’t you?”, he moans. 

“I’m going to do a lot more than that,” he murmurs in a low tone. 

“What are you--”, Alain wiggles suddenly, “Are you tickling me? Stop--ah! Nelson!”

____________________________

**August 1st**

On most nights, Alain sleeps in the guest bedroom. Every night except when they have sex. 

"You can sleep in my bed,” Nelson bites on his inner cheek as he serves him breakfast from a pan. “You do know that? You don’t have to stay in the guest room,” then he pauses, “If you don’t want.”

Alain shakes his head as he eats, “I wouldn’t want to take up any more space than I should be.”

Nelson shrugs, “The offer is there.”

They’re on the bed that night when Alain rolls over and hooks a leg over his waist. His lips begin to move down his neck, his fingers prying at the buttons of his shirt. 

“It’s late,” Nelson manages with a swallow. 

“And?”

Nelson pushes him up just a little, allowing him to arch over his body and peer into his eyes. “I’m tired,” he blinks. He does look the part, doesn’t he? It may be one of the only instances in which Nelson turns him down. 

Alain sighs calmly, “Alright then.” He removes himself and climbs over the edge of the bed, preparing to walk to his room. 

“Wait--”, Alain freezes and glances over his shoulder. Still sitting on the corner of the bed, Nelson has placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to only be in my bed when you want a fuck,” he chuckles, “You can stay here.” He appears greatly flustered, “Only if you want.”

Alain smirks and then lays down beside to him, “Look at you, all blushing!”

Nelson purses his lips, “I am not. It was a simple thing to ask.”

“You’re stammering like a teenager,” Nelson rolls away from him with a groan and hits him with his pillow. 

“Forget what I said,” he growls, “You can sleep in your own bed tonight. Better yet: outside in the jungle.”

“No,” Alain points sharply and Nelson peeks at him curiously, “I think I’ll stay with you.”

After a moment of silence, he shuts off the light on the bedside table and Nelson’s breathing is soft in front of him. “You could’ve just told me that you wanted me to sleep with you,” Alain can’t wipe the smile off of his face. 

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

“That you want to be held…”, he inches a little closer, putting an arm around his stomach under the sheets. 

Nelson stiffens but leans into the touch, “Stop that.”

“That you want to be coddled…”

“That’s it,” and Nelson kicks him off the bed. Alain falls to the ground with a sharp yelp, bringing all the blankets with him. 

____________________________

**August 5th**

Every few days, Alain has to drive Nelson to rehabilitation in the city. Of course, he always puts up a protest over it. 

“I hate going there, you know,” he frowns, crossing his arms like an insolent child.

“Do you want to be in pain for the rest of your life?”, Alain raises a brow, “You already said you’re tired of having to walk with a cane, if you go there it will help you.”

“You just love this don’t you?”, Nelson fiddled with the end of his shorts, running his fingers over one of the scars on his knees thoughtfully.

“Love what?”

“Taking care of me,” he peers to him with arrows, “You’re treating me like we are married and in our seventies.”

Alain lets a long laugh, one that makes him close his eyes. “I will probably kill you before then,” he chuckles as he parks the car. 

“Definitely.”

After rehabilitation, Nelson likes to direct him to secret spots along the coast where the tides run blue and beautiful over black sanded beaches sheltered by tall cliffs. He shouldn’t be walking around at all, but of course, when has Nelson ever really listened to somebody else? Alain's been wondering something for a few days but he only decides to ask him now while they’re sitting on the bank together. 

“Are you still taking the pain medication?”, Alain inquires as he grabs a handful of sand only to let it slide through his fingertips. 

“They have me on lower and lower doses,” Nelson winces and then adjusts one of his legs manually.

“Does it still hurt?”, he inquires for his own personal curiosity. These days, Nelson always has a tight, grim expression plastered to the lines of his countenance. Nelson pauses and his fingers dig into the rocks below him, the tan of his knuckles shining against the low hanging sun. “Nelson?”, but he only puts his head down at his name. 

He tries to admit a shrug, “A little.”

“Nelson…”

“A fucking lot,” he snaps, his attention rippling towards him instantly. “It hurts a fucking lot.” He makes out a mock smile, “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Alain slugs his shoulder, “That is why I asked isn’t it?”

Nelson shakes his head and his face canvasses the waterline. Every so often Alain can sense the corner of his eye on him, watching him with soft patience. Alain wonders: _there are so many beautiful things around us, why are you staring at me out of all this?_ But, maybe, he never really wants to know. And small part of him already does.

____________________________

**August 8th**

“And Sylvia decided it was okay?”, Alain swings his feet as he sits on the counter. Nelson is stressfully digging into the tub of ice cream below him on the floor with his legs splayed out in front of him. 

“Yeah, I’ll take Kelly and Nelsinho for the rest of the month,” he chews slowly but taps his foot at a rapid pace on the tile flooring. 

“But Nelsinho is going to stay in Brazil…”

Nelson stops, he stills, “Yes. He’s going to start living with me.”

“You’re going to like that, aren’t you?”, Alain slides from the counter to the floor, settles in beside him and stealing Nelson’s spoon from his mouth. 

“Of course,” then he glares him over and gives him a sinister expression. “Get your own spoon, heathen.”

“Ah, yes,” Alain gestures around them, “As if we already aren’t sitting on the kitchen flooring musing over life with ice cream like we are are sixteen.”

“Leave me and my sugar-tooth alone, you’re hurting our feelings.”

Alain shuts him up by shoving some of it into his mouth to his surprise. 

____________________________

**August 10th**

Alain decides to go with Nelson to France to pick up his kids. Nico and Sacha are spending the summer with their grandparents in the country so he takes a day to visit them before meeting with Nelson again in the airport with his private jet. It’s the first time that he’s seen Nelsinho since March. He’s grown an inch at least, his birthday was just a few weeks ago. Nelsinho doesn’t like turbulence, Alain finds this because of the little nail marks the child leaves in his thigh after grabbing it. The other child, Kelly, has already been sleeping the entire flight. 

“She’s a good kid, very quiet, calm,” Nelson’s eyes filter over to the window at the little clouds that pass by the frame of it.

“And Nelsinho?”, they both look towards him. Nelsinho looks almost pale and he keeps swallowing. 

“He’s different,” Nelson shrugs. 

Alain manages to catch Nelsinho's attention an hour into the flight. His round face looks to him, his eyes wide and his blinks slow, almost concentrated. “Do you want to come sit here?”, he pats the seat in between himself and Nelson. The child pauses a moment before getting up to squirm in between them. Alain tugs him into his side at his hip, putting an arm around his back to hold him a little closer. Nelsinho lets out a long sigh, a tired shudder of breath like a hiccup that causes him to rub his face into the folds of his coat quietly. 

After a few minutes, Nelson leans out of his seat and his son’s head lolls into Alain’s lap. Instead of moving him, Alain reaches over to pets his hair, brushing it out of his eyes, off his forehead, curling it behind his ear. “I think he is asleep,” Nelson presses into his shoulder and Alain hums contentedly. 

“That’s good.”

“You should bring Nico and Sacha here sometime this month,” Nelson breathes, fiddling with his fingers into his lap. “It would be good for them to experience something different, they’ve stayed in Europe all of their lives,” he notes. 

Alain shrugs, pulling his jacket over Nelsinho’s stomach to cradle him. “Maybe Nico, but Sacha is only two. In another few years, sure,” he does must at the idea. Bringing Nico to Brazil for a few weeks before school would stimulate his mind. Nico was rather intelligent after all. “Only if you teach him some Portuguese, it’ll be useful to him to know these kinds of things.”

Nelson chuckles, “I will be a pretty shitty teacher.” Then he stops to ruminate, “But it could work.”

____________________________

**August 11th**

The first night Nelsinho spends in the house he cries and Nelson has to stay in the room with him until he finally falls asleep. Nelson returns downstairs just as Alain is finishing up the dishes. Absentmindedly, Alain throws the dish towel over his shoulder and leans the heels of his hands on the edge of the counter to shut off the water. 

“Does Nelsinho usually do that?”, Alain asks as Nelson begins to dry the wet dishes. 

He shrugs, “Usually the first night.” He opens up the cabinet above his head, “He’s always done it.” He is far softer, he figures. But then Alain wonders if there ever was a point where Nelson was like that too: soft. 

“And Kelly?”

“Never,” he shakes his head. A small smile comes over him, “That girl can sleep through anything. I think one time Geraldo shattered the patio door and she didn’t even budge.”

“How the hell did he end up doing that?”

“The tree he uses to sneak out of the house fell down onto the window. He was sneaking out to see his girlfriend,” Nelson shook his head. “I would’ve just driven him if he asked. Of course, I made him get a job and pay for the damages.”

They both laughed. But if it were about anything in particular, Alain couldn't tell you.

____________________________

**August 11th**

The jet lag still makes Alain awaken at five in the morning. That morning, he almost steps on Nelsinho who during the middle of the night must have moved to sleep on the floor of their bedroom. Alain lift him back into his own bed, tucks him in just as Laszlo is just beginning to stir on the other side of the room. 

“I found Nelsinho on the floor this morning,” Alain waits until both of the younger boys are out in the backyard with the dogs and Viviane has taken the girls out with her. 

“What do you mean?”, Nelson turns to him, “On the floor how?”

“Like, sleeping,” he nods, “On the floor.”

Nelson only frowns, “He’s ever done that before.” But Nelsinho starts crying the second night too and in the morning, Alain takes him back to his bed before the sun has even risen. “He should be sleeping in his own bed, he has to get used to that,” Nelson stirs his coffee with a spoon, dumping more sugar into it. 

“All this,” Alain gestures vaguely around him. “It’s unfamiliar to him. He is used to his mother, someone else to comfort him. You have to make everything feel safe for him.”

Nelson sighs deeply, “I’m trying.”

“I know you are.”

He peers towards him across the dining table, catching his eye, “What would you do?”

Alain pauses for a moment pensively, licking his lips, “I don’t know.”

Nelson rolls his eyes, “Thank you for being so helpful.”

Alain swats him with his newspaper, “ _De rien_.”

“Ah, Alain, you sound so erotic,” he draws out the last word to make an impression upon him and clasps a hand to his heart, “ _quand tu parles Francais._ ”

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same about you.”

____________________________

**August 13th**

Nelson is in the shower when Nelsinho calls out for him. Alain holds him for a little bit until he has fallen asleep. Once his eyes have shut, he tucks him in and heads back to the master bedroom. Nelson is shaking the water from his hair and slipping on some boxers when he enters. 

“Where were you?”, he inquires, pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth to speak to him. 

Alain draws back the covers and crawls underneath them, lying on his back and scanning the ceiling. “I was with Nelsinho, helping him fall asleep,” he mutters, tracing his thoughts out on the paint. 

“We have to stop doing that sooner or later,” Nelson slips in closer to him. 

“Soon,” but he wonders just what it is like for a seven year old to have his world uprooted. “He’s a little frightened, put yourself in his shoes,” he places a hand on Nelson’s chest and he drifts soundlessly into his embrace. 

“I guess so.”

At three in the morning, Alain is awoken by the bedroom door opening, closing and sheets shuffling about. Immediately he sits up and flicks on the light beside. He squints at the brightness and shields his eyes. Nelson stirs beside him, rolling onto his side but not moving. 

“Nelsinho?”, he calls out to the small shape at the end of his dresser. 

He’s standing there with a blanket around his shoulder and his pillow under his arm. The first thing he does is wobble his lower lip and say, “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t say that,” he rubs his eyes, “Don’t be sorry, you have nothing to say sorry about.”

Nelsinho hiccups, “I’m just--” But he cuts himself off because he finishes and looks downwards, watching his toes dig into the carpet. 

Alain pats the bed, “Come on, climb up.” Nelsinho appears up in surprise, flickering his eyes from Alain’s face to the spot on the bed, “You can sleep in here for tonight if you want.”

Alain clicks off the light when Nelsinho crawls in between him and Nelson. The child draws in close to his side, shifting his head into his shoulder and draping an arm over him. “ _Merci_ ,” he whispers and before a reply can be made, the little one is already asleep. Alain sighs, moving his arm around the back of his neck as the pins and needles prickle under his skin. He puts Nelsinho’s head onto his chest. It’s a fragile, frail thing, a little human being almost as if you could fit them into the palm of your hand. Little breathes and little everything. Life is so very delicate after all.

____________________________

**August 14th**

It is Laszlo who wakes him up by jumping on the bed beside him in the morning. Alain shoots up with a start, the clock reading it is nine in the morning. 

“Why are you jumping?”, he mutters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and late morning sunlight slices through the blinds. 

Laszlo pauses, crossing his legs beside him and his eyes are large as he cocks his head to the side. “ _Pai_ said you have to wake up,” he looks proud of himself and holds out his palm, “ _Doces_ now?”

Alain chuckles, ruffles up his hair and then slips out of bed to the child’s protest. 

“You looked so comfortable,” Nelson mumbles, peering above his reading glasses as he gets to the bottom landing in the stairs. 

“Maybe it’s because I was,” he comes behind the couch and wraps his arms around Nelson's neck, tugging him a little nearer to where their hair is tickling up against the base of his jaw. 

“So, Nelsinho slept in our bed last night,” he says casually. 

“I know,” he mutters into his hair. 

He sighs, “Okay, I guess.”

Alain peels around the couch, nestling himself into Nelson’s lap and wrapping his arms over his shoulders. “Your birthday is in a few days,” he notes. 

“God,” Nelson pushes him back with a grimace, “Don’t you dare remind me!”

Alain ignores this, “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” he glances into his eyes. 

“You can’t want nothing,” Alain smirks. 

“I have everything,” he swallows tightly, “Why would I need anything more?”

“That’s very cute of you,” Alain flicks him in the forehead, “But I have to get you something. You do remember I’ve been practically living with you?”

“Alright,” Nelson puts up his hands in his defense, “Buy me dinner and get me lots of sugar cane.”

____________________________

**August 14th**

The next day, Alain takes the car to the market with Nelsinho in the back seat to get exactly what Nelson wanted: sugar cane. Of course, he has trouble finding it and has to rely on Nelsinho’s Portuguese. He holds his hand as he pays. The markets have a dusty, rustic feeling to them and the smells all around carry for miles. It mingles with the heat all about them and he is starting to sweat beneath the collar of his shirt. 

“ _Obrigado_ ,” Alain smiles and Nelsinho repeats the same thing over his shoulder as they walk away. He takes him for ice cream afterwards and they eat it in the car. “Why won’t you sleep in your own bed?”, Alain questions and Nelsinho, who is sitting in the front seat, pauses for a moment and chews his bottom lip. 

“It’s dark,” he mumbles quietly, continuing licking up his cone. 

“We could leave a light on for you,” and Nelsinho only frowns at this. 

“It’s not only that,” his voice sounds small. 

“You have Laszlo in the same room, what is wrong with that?”

“It’s not Laszlo,” his eyes have fallen down again in shame, his hair hangs in front of his eyes. 

Alain shrugs, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“There isn’t anything to tell,” he has finished now, “I just can’t.”

“You will someday,” he rubs his shoulder, “You’ll be okay.”

Nelsinho gives him a small smile and then turns his eyes out at the dusty road before them. “Can I ride up front all the way home?”, he begs and his eyes flash like a silent, manipulative plea.

“I don’t know, you could get hurt if something happens.”

“But it is so close,” he begs, turning to him and clasping his hands together, “Please, Alain?”

He pauses and then turns on the car, “Just don’t tell your other siblings, promise?”

“Promise.”

“And buckle your seat belt.”

It is something he has noticed about Nelsinho: how much he truly resembles his father. He has the identical shy but poignant smile, perhaps his just a little more sweet. Eyes soft like pillows and yet cold just as steel could be and is. He has a quiet, warmth to him like sun just peeking over distant mountains. He wonders if people look at Nico and think the same thing. But he doesn’t know if he could ever live in a shadow; he would be too inclined to create his own. 

____________________________

**August 17th**

Nico arrives in Brazil in the morning and is the bright chirpy sunshine he always is. He stumbles into the kitchen a few minutes past midnight after sleeping for sixteen hours. Nelson and Alain are nursing a bottle of wine at the kitchen table and the stars are dawning down from above. 

“Look who is alive,” Nelson toasts to him with a wink and raises his glass. 

“Very funny,” Nico makes a face and then peers around for the fridge. 

“Are you hungry?”, Alain asks, standing up. Nico has stripped into a pair of shorts and the lining of his neck is slick with sweat. 

“Ice,” he moans, “Please, only ice.” He flops into the nearest chair, “Is it always this hot here?”

“You think this is hot?”, Nelson laughs sarcastically, “Have you tried going outside at mid-day? Your gentle French skin is going to be baked.”

Nico sticks out his tongue, “Gross.”

“It’s true!”, he protests. 

Alain rolls his eyes and opens the refrigerator for him, “We have food from dinner, do you want some?”

Nico’s eyes widen, “Anything, please.”

“ _Por favor_.”

Nico’s brows arch together, “What?”

“ _Por favor_ ,” Nelson repeats, “It is please. I promised your father I’d teach you Portuguese while you are here.”

Nico shrugs his shoulders, “Only if I can teach you French, _vieil homme_. I can’t have you sounding like a seal.”

Nelson cocks his head, wrinkling his nose, “A seal?”

Nico smirks deviously. "In French we call that a _phoque_!"

Nelson narrows his eyes, "A _phoque_? Sounds like--"

"That's enough!", Alain snaps. Nico and Nelson glance at each other and bite into their smiles. 

Nelson flicks him in the arm and Nico frowns as he moves his arm away, “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“Why?”, he mutters a little _merci_ under his breath when Alain places a plate in front of him, “I have been sleeping all day.”

“Oh yeah,” Nelson smirks, “You are too young to handle so much travel.”

Nico pokes him with a fork, “May I remind you of how you looked passed out on our couch like a baby a few months ago?” Nelson shuts his mouth and Alain chuckles as he settles back into his seat. The rest of it is passed in little silence and Nico places his dish in the sink after he is done. 

“Are you going to bed?”, Alain’s fingertip runs over the rim of his wine glass. 

Nico pauses in the doorway, lets his hand rest on the frame and glances his eyes to the clock on the opposite wall above the pantry door. “ _Vieillard_ , how do you say happy birthday in Portuguese?”, he blinks to him. 

Nelson appears mildly perplexed. “ _Feliz aniversário_ ,” he says slowly, “Why do you ask?”

He smiles sweetly, “ _Feliz_ _aniversário_ , _vieillard._ ” Then he exists the room and his footsteps can be heard on the stairs as he heads back upstairs to sleep another sixteen hours, Alain supposes. 

Alain looks over to Nelson and he has a small grin on his face that he quickly brushes off. “That was nice of him,” Alain rests his head on his hand, a certain exhaustion has begun to weight down his eyelids. Nelson’s face is studying the stars, his attentions flickering up towards the heavens. It’s then, sitting there in candle light and the stars with wine that makes his thoughts feel poured into words that a thought comes to Alain. And they are the planets that circulate the sky; words that won’t ever escape his mouth; there's a longing the yearns deep in his heart. “Nelson,” he whispers and he only watch him from the corner of their eyes. “Nelson,” he repeats his name and he finally turns towards him with a hum.

“Yes, Alain?”

“Happy birthday.”

And Nelson’s eyes twinkle with a certain gratitude then, a silence that cannot be commanded. They are saying: _and is it the greatest gift, isn’t it? You and only you_. Alain gives him a sly expression and Nelson laughs, “What are you doing?”

Alain slides to his knees on the floor, pulling Nelson’s chair out and placing his hands onto his knees to spread them wider. He reaches for his belt, undoing it and slides his pants down to his knees. “What does it look like?”, he rubs him through the fabric of his boxers. Nelson arches his head back, spreading his hands into Alain’s curls with a rough moan. “You keep making sounds like that and you’ll wake the entire house." 

Nelson instead bites into his hand. Nelson instead bites into his hand. “You get better every time more,” he whines, pulling gently. 

Alain moves off, licking his lips but admitting a wink, “Must be all the practice.”

It is again, that face he has seen so very often, like he craves him in some innocent form and it is him and nothing more. Nelson's lips quiver with something to say, and it has been hiding there for so long, sheltered and hidden. But he doesn’t ever say it and Alain would prefer him not to. He doesn’t know if this was made to last, if he should even be there at all with him. It’s this and nothing more that goes no deeper he’d like to say. He knows he is lying and it is wrong; that it goes a lot deeper than either of them are willing to admit. Nelson is frightened of the outcome as if he has placed too much into this not to be confident he’ll stay.

Alain only worries and worries and worries...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! If you enjoyed, please leave a comment. I love to read them and they make me want to write even more. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. My Tumblr is @pierregasly and the link to the Proquet playlist is here:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2jk8TQZVky0JldK1IPpAxX?si=Hx5wRInkQ024_zy-I--uyQ

**Author's Note:**

> So fun fact, all of 1992 is my favorite of all the years. Also, sorry, this chapter accidentally came out a few days later than it was supposed to. I counted down the dates and then completely forgot. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed. Please comment and leaves kudos. Support your creators. My Tumblr is @pierregasly if you guys have anything else. See you all in twenty days!


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